


Devil's Backbone

by mothmanaintshit, RocketsRedGlare



Series: Devil's Backbone [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Mild Language, Minor-Canon Divergence, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5741632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmanaintshit/pseuds/mothmanaintshit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocketsRedGlare/pseuds/RocketsRedGlare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <em>Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not</em>
    <br/>
    <em>He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got</em>
    <br/>
    <em>Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please</em>
    <br/>
    <em>Don’t take that sinner from me</em>
    <br/>
    <em>Oh don’t take that sinner from me</em>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Great Green Jewel

**Author's Note:**

> I will add tags as needed because this is going to be one of those drabble fics. Everything is in the same universe, I will *try* to upload the chapters in the correct order. If there is a chapter that I know should be a few behind the ones I've already uploaded, then I'll move the chapters around. Enjoy~
> 
> [First FO4 fic, I pray I am as good as writing Deacon as the other amazing fic writers on here.]

 

> _Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not_  
>  _He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got_  
>  _Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please_  
>  _Don’t take that sinner from me  
>  _ _Oh don’t take that sinner from me_  
>  **~The Civil Wars**

She noticed him first at Diamond City. Decked out in Back Catcher gear, as all of the law enforcement in Diamond City was, standing near the Dugout Inn, lighting a cigarette and eyes hidden behind reflective sunglasses. She had just gotten to the city and was looking for a place to crash for the night. The Dugout Inn was the best – and only – option, and she didn’t think Piper would approve of her knocking on her door at nearly 1 AM, even if the journalist did invite her over… 

But Callie was sure she had enough Caps to rent a room for the night, and she prayed that they allowed dogs. If not, _well_ … the Piper option wouldn’t weigh as heavy on her mind. She had ditched her Vault 111 jumpsuit back at Sanctuary – being a ‘vault dweller’ get’s you some special attention, and she learned the hard way (not like the Pip-Boy on her wrist wasn’t a _dead giveaway_ ) –, throwing on some Road leathers and leather armor she looted from some corpses while recruiting Preston and his crew in Concord. The tattered fedora Dogmeat ran to her with earlier was a nice touch.

As she neared the Dugout Inn, _Glasses_ lit the cigarette in his mouth. Dousing the flame with a shake of his wrist before throwing the match onto the ground and relaxing back against the wall. Callie marveled at how different life was, just with what the man did. 200 year ago, she would have been berated and _fined_ for throwing her match so carelessly; but 200 years ago, there was a lot more things on the ground to catch fire, and a lot less things to die from. Glasses must have noticed her watching. Is wasn’t like there was a crowd, or _anyone else_ , around to point the accused finger at.

“Welcome to the, uh, ‘ _Great Green Jewel_.’” He blew out some smoke, a hand coming up and itching his scalp while the other pulled the cigarette from his lips, “You’ll totally love it here.”

Callie looked up from the match on the ground and back at the man. She honestly forgot he was even there.

“Uh, yeah.” She shrugged, looking down at her side at Dogmeat. The dog’s eyes were glues to _Glasses_ , head tilting from side to side every few seconds. “Thanks, I guess?” 

“No problemo.” He shrugged, looking down at the cigarette in his hands, “I’d be careful around these parts, though. A lot of things like to jump out from the darkness.” 

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Callie asked as she tilted her head, arching an eyebrow and shoving her hands into her pockets. _Glasses_ took a moment to think on this. Callie watched as the light from the cigarette mirrored on his classes. Callie straightened up after a few moments, figuring the conversation had ended, when he finally responded.

“We can’t protect everyone.”

Callie looked down at Dogmeat, lips pulled down into a noticeable frown as her mind wandered back to those last chaotic moments before she was thrown into the Vault. She remembered running by some men from the army, yelling for everyone to get to the Vault, not caring that many of them didn’t have a spot in the vault. They tried to save as many as they could, but no one made it out alive. She remembered looking over her shoulder at the Vault-Tec Rep who was furious about not being let into the Vault.

“Ain’t that the truth.” She mumbled, pulling her hands from her pockets and kneeling down next to Dogmeat. He whimpered softly, tilting his head at Callie before she started scratching behind his ear. 

“But don’t worry, boy,” She smiled and captured the sides of his face in her palms, pressing a kiss between his brows, “I’ll protect you.” He barked happily as Callie stood back up.

“Thanks for the chat.” Callie dipped her head to him before headed towards the door. “Also, I wouldn’t let a comment like that slip again. I don’t think the people of this ‘ _Great Green Jewel_ ’ want to know that they aren’t being looked after with care… You might get fired.” 

 _Glasses_ stayed quiet as Callie opened the door. She allowed her four legged companion to trot in before herself, and offered _Glasses_ one last smile before entering. She couldn’t help but hope that the other guard in this city weren’t as grim and careless. 

* * *

She’d seen Glasses countless times again, at least ten by time she got to Bunker Hill, but every time she made an advance something else would catch her attention and by time she looked back, he was gone. She started to question her sanity by the fifth time, even blamed the Rads—but then he showed up the last few times with _hair_. That sold her that he was some type of undercover spy. Watching her maybe? If The Institute did take Shaun, maybe they were keeping an eye on her? If they were, they weren’t doing a very good job if she could spot the same agent over and over again. If _Glasses_ wasn’t always wearing the same sunglasses and spoke in the same voice and pitch, maybe, just _maybe_ , she wouldn’t know it was him… Maybe try a different posture and swagger as well. But, at this moment, it didn’t matter. She came to Bunker Hill for a reason and that was to look for more work, _and_ test out her new gun. Maybe killing some raiders and shooting some ghouls will cheer her up after the past couple of overly shitty days. 

Callie walked through the open gates of Bunker Hill after talking her way out of another sticky situation, raising her arm to rummage through her Pip-Boy for the info she was looking for when Dogmeat barked loudly next to her. His bark startled her, and before she had time to look around for what he was barking at, he ran. 

“H—hey! Dogmeat!” Callie called after him, cursing under her breath before chasing after him. “Get back here!” She was hysterical the first time she thought she lost Dogmeat in Sanctuary, little did she realize how many freaking dog houses were around the settlement. She turned a corner and nearly crashing into a Brahmin. Callie, nearly tripping and face planting, jumped over the Brahmin before staggering as she picked up her pace once again. She turned the last corner that brought her to the back of Bunker Hill and stared, wide-eyed, at the man who was trying to hide from Dogmeat behind a stack of hay. Dogmeat barked from her side of the hay, twirling in a circle before moving left and right and barking again towards the hay stack. In the back of her mind, Callie could figure out who exactly was hiding behind the pathetic excuse for a shield, but the nearly blinding light his sunglasses gave when he stuck his head out from the hay was a dead giveaway. 

“Hey, Glasses.” Callie cocked a hip out, placing her hand against it and smirking at his poor attempt at hiding. “So, I didn’t get to ask you this the last, oh… _ten_ time I’ve seen you: Did you get fired from City Guard or did you quit?” She watched him duck his head back behind the hay before hearing him loudly sigh. 

“Alright,” he stood up, holding his hands up in surrender, “ya caught me.”

“Well, Dogmeat did but that’s practically the same thing.” Callie shrugged a shoulder, smiling down at Dogmeat. “He’s such a good boy.”

“He didn’t exactly _listen_ while you were chasing him down.” Glasses said, head tilted towards her furry companion.

“Maybe he smells danger, looking out for his owner,” Callie straightened her poster, narrowing her eyes at him, “you are, after all, stalking me.”

“Stalking you?” He chuckled, running a hand over his bald head. “I am, in fact, not stalking you. I just happen to have extremely bad luck lately—no thanks to you.” 

“Uh-huh. So, what, I got you fired?” She offered, raising her hands and wiggling her finger towards him – a habit she picked up from hanging out with Piper too much. “Got you in trouble with your ‘big-bad-boss’ Mayor McDonough?”

Callie paused a moment, finger frozen in their wiggling as a thought stuck her, “Is he even your boss?” 

“Not in a while, no.” Glasses cleared his throat, mumbling something under his breath that Callie wasn’t able to catch. Glasses stepped out from behind the stack of hay, shoving his hands in his pockets. She took in this fairly new appearance, though it didn’t differ much from what she’s seen. At least this time he was without hair. Dogmeat moved closer to him, sitting next to Glasses and tilting his head all the way up to watch Glasses. Honestly, Callie didn’t know much about dogs, but if Dogmeat trusted his man, she should at least see why he was following her around. 

“Alright,” Callie sighed and let her arms fall to her side as she moved closer to the man, “what’s your deal?” 

“Depends who you’re asking.” He looked down at Dogmeat. Callie furrowed her brows, confused. “If you’re asking _me_ and not ‘ _Glasses_ ’, then I have a proposition I think you’ll wanna hear.”

Callie knew better than this but she _is_ looking for work, and if he was offering…

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Callie nodded to him. “What proposition?”

“Wouldn’t be wise to talk about this in such an, uh,” he looked up from Dogmeat, motioning with his head to passer-byers, “ _open_ space.” Callie looked over her shoulder, watching Bunker Hill suddenly get five time more people crowding in then when she had arrived.

“Then where?” She asked when she looked back at him.

“I’ll tell you once we’re alone.” He offered her a smile, and Callie only felt more on edge. She couldn’t place why, but something was off with this man. She’d have to stay on guard.

“Fine,” She reluctantly agreed, “But I swear, if you try _anything_ —” she pulled out her combat knife from her belt, “—I will not hesitate to defend myself.”

“Oh, I do not doubt _that_.” Glasses walked around the blade, raising his hands submissively before turning and walking towards the Bunker Hill entrance, “But don’t worry, Scars, you can _totally_ trust me.”

Callie frowned as she watched Glasses walk off, shoving his hands in his pockets once he was a few yards away. Callie didn’t trust this man, not one bit, but she trusted in her skills as a marksman and knew she could get herself out of a bad situation if needed. Callie knelt down next to Dogmeat and pulled the scarf off her neck and tied it to his collar.

“Go back to Sanctuary, boy. Look for one of our guys.” She pecked him between the eyebrows and stood, running off to chase after Glasses.


	2. Wavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I haven’t seen anyone with long hair in Fallout 4, soooo… I totally headcanon that Deacon hasn’t seen long hair—either in an extremely long time or ever—so he realizes he likes long hair… long wavy hair… on a certain Sole Survivor named Callie…

“This gun is _amazing_!” Callie – as Deacon had been recently informed of her name – yelled in excitement after killing off the last 1 st Gen Synth at Switchboard with the weapon— _Deliverer_ —he had given her after retrieving the prototype, _Stealthboy_ attached to her belt deactivated as soon as the Synth went down. Deacon— _not Glasses_ , he heard her mumbled under her breath every time she almost called him by her nickname—leaned on a wall behind her in the donut shop, lightly banging his head against the wall as he tried to stand on his right leg. He put pressure on his leg and had to clenched his teeth to hold in a hiss as pain shot through his leg.

 _Yup,_ he ruefully thought as he looked down at his leg, _broken._

“Hey,” Callie seemed to have noticed his absence and walked back into the donut shop, tilting her head at him with a worried gaze, “everything alright?”

“ _Peachy-keen_.” He pushed himself off the wall and stood on his leg, instantly regretting the action but he couldn’t look bad in front of the girl. She raised a brow, holstering her weapon as she carefully walked over the synth bodies on the ground.

“What’s going on, Deacon?” She narrowed her eyes at him, undoubtedly frowning at the pained expression on his face. She looked him up and down, eyes focusing on his leg before looking back up at him as he spoke.

“Look at _you_!” He crossed his arms and smirked down at her. “Finally getting the name right.”

“I deserve a reward for it, too,” she mirrored his stance, same shit-eating grin too.

 _Damnit_.

“They got a good hit on your leg.” She looked back down at it, her lips thinning to a worried frown. She looked towards the door heading back to the basement before walking to his side and pushing herself between the side of his chest and his arm, throwing it over her shoulder. Deacon nearly lost his balance at her force, but he couldn’t exactly protest as she hauled his ass back to the basement. She carefully led him down the stairs and helped him onto the counter, cursing at him when he used her head as support.

“The option stands for me to leave you here, ya know.” She tilted her fedora back up and glared at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his leg up the rest of the way. Callie’s eyes softened before she nodded and pulled her pack from her shoulder.

“Didn’t feel like bringing your furry feline?” Deacon commented on the absence of Dogmeat. He hadn’t seen the little guy since Bunker Hill. Did Callie already have him trained?

“ _Dog_ meat,” Callie put emphasis on the ‘dog’ as she shifted through her pack, “Is a canine, not a feline.” 

“Right, my bad.” he commented with a whistle, “So, no go on this ‘high risk’ mission?” 

“Sent him back to my place.” She frowned and set the bag on top of the counter so she could dig deeper. “Didn’t know if I could trust you or not.”

“So, you sent a dog back to an empty house?” he couldn’t help but snicker. “Who does that?”

“Someone who lives with people who know how to handle a gun and track a missing friend.” Callie quipped back, pulling out a pair of scissors.

“Ah,” Deacon hummed, “that makes a _lot_ more sense than what I was thinking.”

“And what were you thinking, exactly?” Callie’s lips involuntarily twitched as she went back to digging in her pack. “I’d love to hear that the infamous Deacon could possible thing a dog would be capable of doing for it’s murdered owner.”

“Ouch.” Deacon placed a hand over his heart, mocking hurt, “You really didn’t trust me—even _after_ you threatened me with that big knife.”

Callie stopped rummaging momentarily. She seemed to be thinking on his words before mumbling softly, “I’ve had my fair share of run ins to be cautions.”

“Understandable when running around the ‘wealth,” Deacon agreed, eyeing the gauze Callie had just set down next to the pair of scissors. Those scissors were _too_ clean, and the gauze looked almost new. Next thing he knew, ten _stimpacks_ fell on top of the counter and he momentarily wondered if this chick was rich.

_Where did she get all this stuff?_

“I probably should ask this first _before_ grabbing at your pants,” She pulled her fedora off and set it on top of her pack, letting her hair fall down her back before running her hands through it, “would you rather take your pants off or have me cut the pant leg open?”

Deacon stared at Callie with wide eyes. Long hair— _holy shit_! When was the last time he saw someone with long hair? He honest to God—hah, the irony—couldn’t remember the last time he saw long hair. People in the ‘wealth tend to keep the hair shoulder length and above. Hair could be considered a weakness. One misstep, one sneaky raider, one anything, and that pretty head of hair could have a knife against it’s throat while a hand wrapped around the long locks. Her hair even looked smooth, pillowy soft and—oh, God… it’s _wavy_. 

Wait, shit, how long had he been staring?

Callie hadn’t seemed to notice, already pulling out a hair tie and working her hair up in a low bun, some strands didn’t make the cut and framed the side of her face. 

 _Wavy_.

“So?” Callie looked back at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Well,” He cleared his throat, “it’s completely up to you, actually.”

“Oh?” Callie crossed her arms and smirked, leaning the side of her hip against the counter.

“You gonna buy me dinner first?” Deacon pulled off a fairly charming smile, even in pain, and Callie had to cover her mouth to keep her embarrassing fit of giggles to a minimum. 

 _Still got it, Dee._

“Alright, sweet talker.” Callie’s smile didn’t leave as she picked the scissors up. “To keep you from feeling even more pain, I’ll just cut open your pants.”

“Ah, what?” Deacon’s shoulder fell, “No dinner?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry your pretty face, Deacon. You’ll still be getting dinner.” Callie smirked, moving to his wounded leg and starting to cut open the side. “I just want you to be in tip-top shape for what I’ll be having you doing _after_ dinner.”

 _Oh, no_.


	3. Poof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I *totally* skipped like... 6-8 months ahead from the last chapter and I am so sorry but this just called out to me while I was playing Fallout 4 and running around the Institute, listening to all conversations and doing everything I needed to after teleporting. It was at least 3 weeks time (in game) that I was down there. I really liked exploring lol Also, Glory is not dead :') just... so much nope there. She's alive, and happy, and *amazing* (yes, i am choosing to ignore canon.)

One month. It should not be taking this long—she should have been back after one week—she promised she would be back in one week; but she isn’t—still isn’t, even a month later. HQ has never felt so _empty_ , even with people running around, some even celebrating their recent victory in taking down the Brotherhood. He’d been handed to many drinks that first week that he swore he saw her while walking the harbor with Dogmeat.

Week two is when people—including her friends around the ‘Wealth—started to notice her absence even more. Hell, he was antsy at HQ, and with Dez not giving him any new assignment, he decided to do a bit of sightseeing with his friendly, furry, four-legged companion. Dogmeat was more than excited to run around a bit more, and Deacon was positive the little guy knew where they were heading. They made a stop at Goodneighbor, not only to check up in Hancock but to see if the Mayor had seen Callie running around. He wasn’t surprised by the answer he received, Dogmeat, on the other hand… Callie trained him well. He’s been picking up on Deacon’s worry as it is while they were holed up in HQ, but add Hancock’s into the mix and the dog was whining lowly with his tail between his legs. 

Hancock offered free drinks at the Third Rail for him, and water for Dogmeat, but he declined the drinks. He’d had enough to drink the past week; and from the bottles he saw laying around Hancock’s room, he’d say the same for the ghoul. But he couldn’t deny Dogmeat water.

Next, the duo headed to Diamond City. Deacon was down to his last cigarette when they made it through the gates, and just in the nick of time as darkness consumed the sky above them. The two were tired through their trek through the ‘wealth, and Deacon decided it was best of they slept before seeing if Piper or Nick had heard anything from Callie yet. They slept at Home Plate that night. The day he went to Nick asking the same question he had Hancock and, again, wasn’t surprised by what he heard. As reluctant as Deacon was to speak to the press, he was happy to see Piper wasn’t pushing for questions… at least questions involving the Railroad. 

“When are you going to tell her?” She asked him, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and an expression mixed with both worry and curiosity. Piper still amazed him to this day. He had watched the two form an almost-relationship before Callie asked him to tag along. The subtle flirting Piper did, the way Callie would look out for Piper before herself. She still looked out for Piper, still cared deeply for the journalist, but she had something with Deacon that wouldn’t be there with Piper.

No strings. 

Still, Piper _was_ the press. Couldn’t exactly admit feels he doesn’t have, at least not while Callie wasn’t with him—and he does not like Callie in that way. Deflection it was. 

“When are you?”

The disappointed look Piper gave him was one he knew all too well.

“You like her, Dee, and she likes _you_.”

“Look at Ms. Journalist! Reading people’s thoughts, hah.” Deacon waved off the statement. Callie didn’t like him, and he did not like Callie. Piper sighed, shoulders slumping at his reply.

“I know her, Dee, and if you know her as well as I do, she’s going to need _you_ soon…”

Damn, and here he’d _really_ hoped it _wouldn’t_ be him.

“Just remember,” a smile as sharp as glass formed on Piper’s lips, “ _I_ know how to use a gun. You hurt her, I hurt you. Fair deal.”

Not so subtle threat. Yup, she still continues to amaze him.

The rest of week two went about heading back to Sanctuary and asking around. But now, he had to have been hurting Dogmeat more than himself. They headed back to HQ and staying with them for another week. Dogmeat hung out with Glory and himself, Glory took him on walked, Dogmeat hogged the covers, the usual in HQ—and still no assignment. But, the only difference, was Professor was crossed out on the chalkboard. Dez did it while he slept and he erased it and re-write her code name when he woke up. All week it was like that. By the fifth day, _Carrington_ was on his side.

“She’s more than capable of handling herself,” the doctor said, plucking the chalk from Dez’s grasp, “until we can either confirm she is dead, or see the body, her name will no longer be crossed out.”

He’d have to do something for Carrington later, once Callie comes back. Maybe not get shot for a while, he'd appreciate that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you care so much about a person, Dee.” Glory walked up next to him once Dez and Carrington left, eyes fixed on the chalkboard. “You’re goin’ soft, and I can’t say I don’t blame you. Callz… she’s _amazing_ , amiright?”

Deacon felt his heart stop in his chest, casually looking towards Glory.

“What?”

“ _Professor_.” Glory crossed her arms. “You like her.”

“Does the ‘wealth know something I don’t?” _No, it doesn’t._

“Either you’re losin’ your edge or you just don’t want to admit you’ve got the _same_ heart under all those disguises.” 

Dogmeat had interrupted them then, giving Deacon the perfect excuse to run. No _stealthboy_ needed wasting today.

“Potty break.” He smiled at Glory before leading Dogmeat out of HQ, going back to the harbor and smoking as the dog basked in the sun. 

Week four was spent obsessing over _both_ Piper and Glory’s words. Pacing, smoking, drinking, everything besides using chem’s, Deacon did. He doesn’t like Callie like _that_. Yes, she was attractive, one—if not _the_ —most beautiful squishy, pockets of flesh he’d ever laid eyes on. Her hair was a weird, glowing halo, her smile white and contagious, her green eyes always looking at him with love and understand and respect, and God be damned if he didn’t look at her the same way, but that does not mean that he _likes_ her.

 _Those damn women and their words,_ Deacon thought, irritated, as he walked the harbor—for the tenth time that day—with Dogmeat by his side, taking out another cigarette and lighting it up. 

_You like her, Dee, and she likes **you**._

_I don’t think I’ve ever seen you care so much about a person, Dee. You’re goin’ soft, and I can’t say I don’t blame you. Callz… she’s **amazing** , amiright?_

_Either you’re losin’ your edge or you just don’t want to admit you’ve got the **same** heart under all those disguises._

_Callz…_

That was _his_ nickname for her. Spoken in the most private of moment between the two. Wait, no— _maybe_ … crap… He felt _possessive_ over a _nickname…_

“How do you feel when you think of her?” He mumbled, cigarette between his lips. “I feel…”

 _Trust. Respect. Admiration. Pride. Terror. Worry. Anger. Shame… Love._  

He liked her. 

“Oh, _boy_.” Deacon sighed, pulling the cigarette from his lips and hunching down, placing his hands on his knees as he took a deep breath. And another. _And another_. “I’m gonna pass out.” He panted, throwing the cigarette away and taking more breaths. Dogmeat had stopped walked next to him, tilting his head curiously at Deacon.

“You wouldn’t understand, bud.” He said between breaths, looking at the dog. He let his head drop back down as he tried to calm his breathing. Realizing he liked her shouldn’t be this terrifying and _exhilaration_ , jeez.

_Reasons Not to Fall for Someone 101: Emotions Are Confusing_

Dogmeat barked in front of him, his body turned away from Deacon, before crouching lowly, a growl coming out from deep within his throat. Deacon looked around, weapon already in hand, when an aluminum can rolled out from under a nearby trash can. Deacon frowned and looked down at Dogmeat. The dog tilted his head, a small whine emanated from him before he looked up at Deacon. Deacon sighed and knelt down, scratching the back of the dog’s ear.

“Losing your touch too, huh boy?” Deacon frowned, taking another deep breath, “Think she’ll be here, demanding our asses back in the field soon?”

Dogmeat barked, pushing his front paws off the ground and pressing them against Deacons chest as he stretched out.

“I hope that’s a ‘yes’.” Deacon said before Dogmeat attacked his face with licks. Deacon groaned, pushed the dog off of him as he stood back up. “Ah, _gross_.”

* * *

That night, he tossed and turned on that cold, hard mattress. Dogmeat was sleeping with Glory a few mattresses down the wall. Everyone was asleep, Deacon could even hear the dog snoring, but him; because his mind would not _shut off_.

Midnight marked the one-month anniversary since Callie threw herself into The Institutes hands. Midnight marked the one-month anniversary of everything he should have said and didn’t. Midnight marked the one-month anniversary of her maybe death… 

_One month. And he hadn’t said a **damn thing**._

Deacon cursed, flipping over in bed. He couldn’t get out of his head when Callie left, how he didn’t tell her, how he just let her go into the unknown without him in her corner…

One month ago, she stood in Hanged Man’s ally with him and Dogmeat and Dez and Tom, pack filled with the essentials, eyes alert and masking terror, nails digging into her palms as she looked at the teleporter Tom had built. She shifted from foot to foot, weapon Deacon had given her months ago clipped to her belt.

 _Shit_ , Deacon eyes shifted from Callie to the teleporter. He had learned that there was a time and place to expression how fucking stupid this was, and this was definitely the time and place—even more with Tom’s rants about _how she could fucking **die**_ —but he knew Callie wouldn’t hear any of it. She is a mother on a mission, and as Stephen King once said, “There's no bitch on earth like a mother frightened for her kids.”

But there had to be a better way than _this_. This was suicide—hell, why wasn’t Dez saying anything besides ‘make sure you speak to patriot’? Deacon didn’t voice it, but he wanted to say “ _Fuck patriot, find your son and find a way out_.” He _would_ have voiced it if he knew Callie would be gone for a month at the time. 

But he didn’t, because Callie is _fucking_ Callie. The woman who knew how to take down a _glowing_ deathclaw with nothing more than 12 .10mm bullets. The woman who helped saved countless synth’s lives—even cried after saying goodbye to H2-22 (not counting her crying when listening to H2-22’s goodbye to her). The woman who watched his back in a firefight and refused to leave his side in the toughest situations when he went down. The woman who he practically had to force to read his fake recall code because she didn’t trust herself not to use it because she was desperate for a lead concerning Shaun. The woman who… who _he_ trusted. The woman he would bet on against anything.

She was fucking _Callie_. The Commonwealth’s Silver Shroud. Their hero… _his_ hero.

And he didn’t say a _damn_ thing to her besides ‘see you on the flip side’.

Deacon silently stood, grabbing his glasses and heading towards the HQ’s main entrance. He stopped for a second, seeing Dez picking up the chalk and, with a reluctant and shaky hand, put a line through _Professor_.

Today, Callie was dead… he lost her.

Deacon headed out through the main entrance, not giving a second glance back. The air was cold and crisp, even in October. It couldn’t had been more than a couple hours since midnight… three perhaps. Deacon leaned against the Church’s wall, sliding all the way down until he hit the ground. He took his sunglasses off, letting them fall on his lap as he rubbing his tired eyes. He rested his elbows on his knees, face caught in his hands at he took calming breathes.

“I shoulda’ said something, or—or _done_ something.” He mumbled in his hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot—It was there! It was fucking there and I just let her walk away and—… _Fuck_!” 

Deacon leaned his head back against the wall, his hands still covering his face. “I let her kill herself, and for what? We had time—we could have had time—”

Deacon’s rant stopped instantly when he heard footsteps. They were a good way away, just around the church, and he wouldn’t have thought much of it if that radio station Callie always had playing on her Pip-Boy was moving with the footsteps.

_No—no, no, no… She’s alive?_

Deacon stood, his glasses fallen and forgotten as he moved around the church and saw her. Callie. Exactly like when she had left. She was oblivious to the world around her, the radio station playing as she played one of her games. Just like Callie to do that. She always had someone with her though, could listen and watch as she played mindless games on her Pip-Boy. He actually missed that. 

“Callz…” He breathed out, taking a few steps towards her before running. She didn’t have time to react when his lips were suddenly on hers, a hand in her hair and the other around her waist, pulling her as close as he could. What Deacon didn’t think of before was that Callie didn’t know who was kissing her, and would react violently. He was at least thankfully she didn’t skin him.

“D—Dee?” Callie stared at him, wide eyed, watching at the realization that she punched him set in. Oh, but he didn’t care. That voice… his name… Shit, he had it bad.

“Now that you know who it is,” Deacon chuckled, moving back in front of her, “I’m going to kiss you again.” 

Callie, mouth slightly agape, could only nod as Deacon pulled her to him. Their lips touched. Callie didn’t quite resist the urge to tilt her head, nor to let out the moan that welled up from somewhere deep beneath her stomach. Her head was tilted, Deacon’s fingers under her chin. Deacon didn’t speak, too frightened that he was going to break the moment. Fingers carded through Callie’s hair, and her own hands dropped lower, caressing the shape of Deacon’s back, grabbing his waist and dragging him as close as she possible could get him. Deacon lead Callie against the wall of the church, never moving away from her, and he felt her leg hitch up and wrap around his waist when they hit the wall with a heady thump.

“You’re alive.” Deacon breathed out, pulling away from the kiss and pressing his forehead again Callie’s. 

“I am,” she smiled, and _oh_ , what that smile did to his heart. But it quickly disappeared, and the grim reality of life set back in their minds as she spoke again, “But… we have a situation.” 

_Oh, no._


End file.
